


War is Over Now (Merry Xmas)

by It-is-the-Hannah (carry_on_my_wayward_outcasts)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas Special, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Nightmares, Post-Apocalypse, Snow, as in: they fixed the apocalypse and get to live happily ever after, it's just them being soft and playing in the snow at night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carry_on_my_wayward_outcasts/pseuds/It-is-the-Hannah
Summary: "Kind of romantic, don't you think?" Jon says, voice hushed so as not to disturb the magic of it all, "Although that might just be all the hallmark movies you've had me-- hey!" He hadn't noticed Martin scooping up the snow to throw at him until it had already hit him, hadn't even considered that this might be something they would do out here, but Jon has never been one to back down from a challenge.He gathers up some snow and flings it at Martin before sprinting in the other direction to avoid the inevitable retaliation, his laugh caught in the soft wind as Martin sputters from behind him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	War is Over Now (Merry Xmas)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey gang! I started writing this a few weeks ago when I was listening to that one John Lennon Christmas song (the one the title is from!), and was like, hey, this reminds me of JonMartin for some reason.  
> I've finally gotten around to finishing it just in time for Christmas, so enjoy fully 1500 words of "hey we're not dead! Let's play in the snow!" fluff!

Jon wakes up gasping again. 

The routine is this: lay awake panting for a moment, either remembering the dream itself or simply the fear behind it, then remembering that none of his terrible experiences involved soft pillowcases or thick duvets or bear-shaped nightlights casting a soft glow over the bedroom. Martin is often beside him in bed when he wakes up, sometimes still asleep, sometimes already fully awake, and almost always willing to wrap Jon up in his arms or be wrapped up himself. 

Martin isn't in bed tonight, but this isn't so rare that Jon worries instantly. It is cold, though, late December in a drafty London house, and Jon finds that without Martin to cuddle up to, he's too chilly to get back to sleep, so he goes looking for his partner. 

He finds him quickly. Their house isn't very big-- it's nearly impossible to get lost. 

Jon isn't trying to be quiet, and Martin is fairly tuned to the sound of his footsteps at this point, so he puts an arm up and inviting Jon over to share in his blanket without turning away from where he is staring out the large glass door to their balcony. Jon does not hurry over, but he is eager in the way he burrows under the afghan against Martin's warm side. If Martin were on the couch, as he usually is when Jon comes to find him at night, Jon might fall asleep right there, but he is content enough to stand here, digging his toes into the soft carpet. 

"Are you alright?" He nods into Martin's shoulder. 

"Are you?" Martin nods back at him, and that's that.

In the early days, this kind of late-night meeting would have involved a Conversation. They had spent months after the Apocalypse clumsily putting words to their trauma, trying to outline to themselves and each other why Martin sometimes couldn't bear to be alone at night but sometimes needed to sleep on the couch, why Jon sometimes had trouble with any kind of weight on top of him, why they both sometimes woke up gasping, woke up crying, woke up terrified and guilty and grieving all over again. As time went on, though, they started learning how to work around the bad nights, started gradually having fewer of them, started quietly figuring out how to move on from it all and not forget, but not hang onto just the worst bits, either. 

Now, nights are calmer, less fraught, even when neither of them can manage sleep. They don't need to hash anything out again-- most nightmares at this point are just remixes, familiar enough that they know what to do about them when they come up. If one of them needs comfort they know how to ask for it, if one of them needs to talk they know that they could. It isn't easy, exactly, but it is easier than it was, and the two of them are slowly starting put together a picture of a world that doesn't have to hurt anymore.

Martin nudges Jon to face the glass from where he had burrowed into his jumper. 

"It's snowing." 

It is. The flakes catch in the glow from the streetlamps and the fairy lights, a delicate wonder, and Jon, tired as he is, gets an idea.

"Let's go outside."

Martin laughs, a short, incredulous thing, "Really? In the middle of the night?"

"Why not? We're awake anyway." Jon has never been one to think things through, and he has always liked snow, and the way the street lamps and Christmas lights are setting the falling snow alight makes him want to be out in it all. 

Martin stares at him a moment, probably considering objections-- it's cold, they really should at least be pretending to try and fall back to sleep-- but instead of voicing them, he nods, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Yeah, alright. Sure. Let's go outside."

They're both still groggy, but the promise of something so unusual has them acting more like giddy schoolchildren than anything. As they pull on their coats and scarves and lace up their boots, Jon keeps finding himself glancing over at Martin to find Martin looking back at him, the both of them nearly bursting into giggles at the absurdity of it all. Two grown men, having seen the things that they have, getting excited about something as mundane as snow at Christmastime. 

Jon finds that there's a lot of these moments, lately, sudden shocking of joy where it feels incongruous. Making up for lost time, maybe, or just a new way of rebelling-- if they're going to have so much trouble sleeping, they might as well have fun while they're at it, might as well try and see a little nice magic in among all the awful supernatural nonsense. Mostly, Jon's just fed up with all of the darkness in their lives, so when something comes along that might change that, he's been trying to lean into it.

It's the middle of the night, the dead of winter, but when they finally step outside there is so much  _ light.  _

The snow is falling softly, silently, a sheer blanket that no cars or people have disturbed yet, set aglow by the streetlamps and the fairy lights strung up around the whole place like a scene from a fairytale. 

"Kind of romantic, don't you think?" Jon says, voice hushed so as not to disturb the magic of it all, "Although that might just be all the hallmark movies you've had me--  _ hey!"  _ He hadn't noticed Martin scooping up the snow to throw at him until it had already hit him, hadn't even considered that this might be something they would do out here, but Jon has never been one to back down from a challenge.   
He gathers up some snow and flings it at Martin before sprinting in the other direction to avoid the inevitable retaliation, his laugh caught in the soft wind as Martin sputters from behind him.

It isn't really the right sort of snow for snowballs, too dry and powdery, but they have fun just chasing one another around the quiet street with handfuls of the stuff, laughing a little too loudly and shushing one another so they don't wake the neighbors. Jon calls a truce when he accidentally hits Martin in the face with a puff of snow that startles him enough to knock him to the ground, and Jon worriedly checks him over even as Martin is practically bent double cackling at the absurdity of the whole night. 

When Martin gets a hold of himself, Jon gives him a hand to help him to his feet, and suddenly they are practically nose to nose, holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes.

"You know, you were right." Martin's breath is a ghost against Jon's cheek.

"About what?"

"This really is kind of romantic." Jon nods as much as he can, and Martin steps back slightly, still holding on to Jon's hand. "Will you dance with me?"

"But there's no music," Jon says, but he allows himself to be guided so he's holding Martin's waist with one hand, Martin's hand on his shoulder, their other hands clasped tight. 

"I think that's alright, don't you?" 

Jon is pretty sure everything in this moment is alright, actually. They start to dance, fumbling and giggly like a couple of teenagers, not quite a waltz and not quite anything else, steps half-remembered from another lifetime. Neither one of them is exactly leading, and they both twirl each other around a few times because it's  _ fun  _ and this is the kind of scene that just begs to be spun around in. It's nice, and peaceful, and Jon sort of wishes they could keep going forever, but it is very late, and he can feel himself starting to get tired. 

Martin pulls him in a little closer, so they're not doing any of the wide turns anymore but a simple swaying, pressed up against each other. Martin is humming something, a Christmas carol Jon almost recognizes but couldn't put words to. 

Jon leans his head against Martin's shoulder, and Martin presses a kiss to the shell of his ear as they gently sway. It's like the scene at the end of a Christmas movie, when all the fights have been resolved and all that's left is the aftermath, the slowly fading music and a hope for a brighter future. 

"We're really okay, aren't we." 

It isn't a question. Martin barely says it loud enough for Jon to hear. It is three in the morning, and the both of them woke up from half-remembered nightmares about long-dead friends tonight, and they are standing in the snow in their pajamas like a couple of lunatics, and they are okay. They are alive, and they are happy more days than they aren't, and they are in love, and they are okay. They have seen awful, unimaginable things. And they have been hurt. And they have been afraid for so long.

And now they are dancing under the streetlamps and blinking snowflakes out of their eyelashes and somehow, impossibly, still here, still standing, after everything. 

Jon doesn't reply to Martin, but he does squeeze his hand a little tighter. 

The snow falls softly around them, and the fairy lights glow above their heads, and they are chilly enough and tired enough that they should probably go inside and actually go to bed soon.

And impossibly, they are okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Leave kudos/comments/ come say hi on tumblr at it-is-the-hannah if you like!  
> We love a good hallmark fluff piece, and by we, I mean me, gazing wistfully at the snow and Christmas lights outside.  
> I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas (if you celebrate it, and if not, I hope you have snow and enjoy the pretty lights anyway!)  
> See you in the new year!


End file.
